


Between the Lines

by salakavala



Series: Snow on Asgard, Flowers in Jotunheim [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (what a self-contradictory tag when I think about it), Alternate Universe - Canon, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Romance, Cultural Misunderstandings, Flowers, Fluff, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Loki and Thor Are Not Related, M/M, awkward courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 10:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15683895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salakavala/pseuds/salakavala
Summary: Loki thought his forthcoming marriage to the Crown Prince of Asgard would not be so bad. He thought they got along well enough to make it work.Until Thor sent him flowers.





	Between the Lines

**Author's Note:**

> In the middle of both reading and writing angst-heavy fics I had to balance the scales by writing something light and fluffy, and this little story was born. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, for those of you who might still be interested in reading "infinitely, yours", please know that I have not abandoned it. I had to re-think the entire plot, because, frankly, the original one had more holes than plot, sooo updating might take a considerable while. But I still intend to continue it. Eventually.
> 
> And, as always, you're welcome to come say hi to me at [salakavala7](https://salakavala7.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

 

 

 

Hebyl shifted impatiently under Loki’s unimpressed gaze, and Loki raised his eyes from the old servant’s outstretched hand to his face, lifting his brow. In spite of his slight form – or rather, due to it – he had long since mastered the art of staring down at Jotuns nearly twice his size, a skill which he utilised frequently in Laufey’s court. It was particularly handy when presumptuous servants forgot their place and allowed insolence in the face of their prince.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked coolly, keeping his rage suppressed.

 _This_ was a bundle of flowers held in old Hebyl’s huge fist, offered to Loki. And not just normal little flowers with pale petals, as was typical of the few varieties native to Jotunheim; these flowers were large and bright, unlike anything Loki had ever seen before. If he didn’t feel the absence of magic on them, he would have believed they were enchanted.

Hebyl shifted from foot to foot. “Delivery. From Asgard. Prince Loki.”

“From _Asgard?_ ”

“From the crown prince,” Hebyl added with reluctance. He thrust the flowers subtly towards Loki again.

Loki looked at them, his cool exterior cracking a little to show the uncertainty underneath. “Flowers,” he repeated to himself, staring at the dead, if pretty examples of Asgardian plant life. “Why would Thor send me flowers?”

“I don’t know,” Hebyl said, his hand still insistently outstretched. “A messenger came through the Bifrost and said these were for you. Courtesy of Prince Thor.”

Loki finally took the flowers. Hebyl immediately wiped his hand on his loincloth.

“You are sure there was nothing else?” Loki asked, turning the flowers in his hands, finding no note.

“Nothing else. Prince Loki.”

Loki’s lips thinned into a line. “You will speak nothing of this to anyone,” he commanded and dismissed Hebyl with a sharp gesture. If his brothers, or worse, Laufey, discovered that Thor had sent Loki flowers so soon after only their second meeting, they would not waste time to blame him for ruining his marriage before it had even started.

He and Thor had been promised to each other when they still had been but younglings, a match orchestrated by their fathers in hope of ensuring peace between their realms for the generations to come. It was at the end of those negotiations when Loki had met Thor for the first time.

They hadn’t particularly liked each other. Thor had wrinkled his nose at Loki and quietly asked the Allfather why, if he had to marry someone, it couldn’t be someone he liked, someone fun and pretty and less blue. He hadn’t spoken loud, of course, but Loki’s ears had already by that time been sharpened to hear every malevolent whisper directed at him, and he had heard Thor’s, too. Loki, in turn, hadn’t thought highly of Thor, either – he was too loud and brash and had the tact of a snow troll – but he had a far more pragmatic take on the matter. After all, everyone knew that the match was arranged purely for political reasons, so Loki and Thor only needed to upkeep appearances for the public eye; in privacy they needn’t see each other more than necessary, and each could lead a perfectly comfortable life of their own.

Loki had been annoyed back then by Thor’s apparent need to make it a problem, although he had understood that Thor’s situation was different from his own. Thor had been born a crown prince, and who knew, perhaps he’d had a sweetheart he’d rather have by his side – whereas Loki was born a third prince, and a runt to boot. No Jotun would ever accept a runt for a mate, and the most he could expect from Jotunheim was the role of a tolerated, disfigured brother of the future king, always treated with scorn beneath false courtesy. On Asgard at least Loki would be the consort of the man who would once become the overlord of all the Nine Realms.

They had barely exchanged any words, that time.

The next time Thor and Loki had met was decades upon decades later, at their own nuptials. They had both grown by then, in body and mind, and Loki had discovered that Thor had not only reached a form quite pleasing for the eye, but also learnt manners and tact. If Loki hadn’t known of Thor’s reluctance to marry the Jotun prince, he wouldn’t have been able to detect it at all. This time they had spent more time together, always under the watchful eyes of their entourage, never closer than an arm’s length as the tradition dictated, and Loki had found to his surprise and satisfaction that apparently Thor had made his peace with the marriage as well. He had shown willingness and even curiosity to learn more about Jotunheim and its culture, and proved that he could maintain an intelligent conversation too. It had kindled a hope in Loki that perhaps they could also become true allies in their united future, not merely grudging ones.

That had been but a fortnight ago, and next they would meet at their own handfasting, which was still many moons away. Loki had not expected to hear from his betrothed before that – and certainly not like _this_.

Loki regarded the flowers balefully. They were crimson like blood, tied together with a red ribbon, severed at their very stem. When he gingerly lifted them to his face, a rich smell assaulted his nostrils. He huffed and reflexively rubbed at his nose; the smell was unfamiliar and strangely sweet. Thick. Not entirely unpleasant.

Had Loki misjudged Thor after all? Did Thor still harbour the same disdain for Loki that he had at their first meeting? Why else would Thor have chosen blood-red flowers, severed from their life source? It was an old custom, no longer actively practised on Jotunheim, a sign that the sender of the flower intended to cut down the recipient. These days the meaning had ameliorated to merely showing disdain, but who knew which of the meanings Thor had in mind? Surely he couldn’t intend to slay Loki to avoid marrying him? Perhaps he simply wanted to show what he thought of their married future – that it was destined to wilt away, decay, like the severed plant.

Loki tried to remember what he and Thor had talked of at their nuptials, what could have warranted such contempt. Now that he thought of it, there had been some discussion about plant life, too. Indeed, Thor had described to Loki the palace garden in Asgard, and Loki had remarked that flowers in Jotunheim were scarce and small, blooming rarely in the harsh climate, and that Loki hadn’t seen many in his lifetime.

He had also told Thor of the symbolism of flowers, of how they represented life and resilience and growth.

Loki sighed. That removed the possibility of a misunderstanding, then. Growing flowers represented life, so it was obvious that when severed from their roots, they expressed exactly the opposite – a symbol of life, cut at its bloom.

And now Thor had sent an entire bouquet of them.

Loki dropped the flowers on his desk. Then, on impulse, he grabbed them and tossed them on the bottom of his wardrobe, out of sight, and went to have a bath.

It was only later, when he lied on his bed, wrapped in the comfort of his furs, that he realised the churning in the pit of his belly to be disappointment.

By the morning, the smell of the flowers had seeped into all of his clothes.

.

It didn’t stop at that.

Every evening Hebyl brought a new bouquet to Loki’s chambers, always with the same message: courtesy of Thor.

The flowers came in different colours, shapes, and sizes. Sometimes they were delicate, tiny blue, sometimes bright yellow with long petals, sometimes white and red and orange all in one. They filled Loki’s chambers with their strange scents, and, with nothing else to do with them, Loki let the magical frost claim them, so as to prevent them from losing their bloom. He could not dispose of them; such colourful waste would be noticed at once, and it wouldn’t take long for the word to reach Laufey, who would immediately guess where the flowers had come from and to whom they were addressed. As Loki had no interest in hearing yet another lecture on his personal failings, he ended up keeping every bouquet delivered to his door. And if he was going to have to keep them, anyway, he might as well preserve their beauty.

And beautiful they were. Despite the intentions behind them, Loki could not deny that the lush colours and exotic scents, after getting used to them, appealed to him. In the privacy of his chambers he would run his fingers over the petals, feeling their exquisite textures, and a little guiltily inhale their aroma. The fresh scent of morning always still clung to them, for it was dawn in Asgard when evening claimed Jotunheim, and it often made Loki think of the greener than green gardens that awaited him, should the marriage come to be.

Eventually he would let hoarfrost spread over the flowers, and not think of Thor.

Three weeks passed like that, until one evening Hebyl came to Loki’s door with empty hands.

“Yes?” asked Loki, horrified at his initial reaction, which was disappointment, causing him to snap sharper than usual.

“The messenger came himself,” Hebyl answered, unease written all over his face; he, of course, was well aware of the flowers and their meaning.

Loki did not immediately catch his drift. “What messenger?”

Hebyl didn’t respond, and Loki understood: the messenger had come to fulfil the promise of the flowers.

“Where is he now?”

“At the Bifrost site. Out of sight.”

Loki made a quick decision. “Bring him here.”

Hebyl fixed him with a disapproving look, and Loki’s temper flared. “Yes, Hebyl, _here_ . If he wishes to deliver his _message_ , he will come to me, not I to him.”

“Should I alert the guards?” Hebyl asked, clearly doubtful. He did not perhaps like Loki very much, but it seemed Loki had grown on him enough for him to hesitate bringing a possible assassin to his Prince’s door.

Loki’s eyes flashed. “No. I will deal with him myself. Take care that no one sees you – use the servants’ corridors. And make haste.”

After Hebyl left, Loki allowed himself a moment of weakness and pressed his forehead against the door. While the flowers had been coming, he had somehow managed to ignore their message, but now he had to face it again. Odd of Thor to send his assassin so openly, but perhaps it had something to do with his proclaimed warrior’s honour. Or perhaps it was another ploy – after all, Loki barely knew him. Either way, Loki would not cower. He would face this killer and send his mangled body back to Thor as a little message of his own.

It felt an eternity later when a quiet knock finally pulled Loki out of his thoughts. Without giving himself time to hesitate, he draped himself over a fur-covered seat and called, voice as imperious as he could muster, “Enter.”

The door opened, and Hebyl’s sullen face came into view. Behind him stood a hooded figure, barely visible behind the giant servant.

“Have you brought our visitor?” Loki asked coolly, just to clarify their positions to the messenger.

Instead of replying, Hebyl stepped aside to let their visitor enter Loki’s room.

“Leave us.”

Hebyl did not move. Loki gritted his teeth. He would not have his authority questioned like this, even if the servant meant inherently well. He fixed Hebyl with a sharp glare full of promises, should he not comply.

Hebyl’s lips thinned, but he forced a nod. “Prince Loki,” he said, showing his disapproval with his entire being before stepping outside and pushing the door closed behind himself.

Left alone with his potential assassin, Loki eyed him calmly, hiding even from himself the restless rhythm of his heart. The man wore a long cloak that covered his entire body, and a large hood that cast his face in deep shadows. “Show yourself,” Loki commanded, but already as he started to speak the man’s hands moved to remove the hood.

“Prince Loki,” he said, and smiled with the entirety of his so very familiar face.

Loki, stunned by his insolence, could only stare. “ _Thor_.”

He never would have guessed that Thor would come to stain his hands in person, but there he stood all the same, a self-satisfied smile on his face, looking at Loki like he expected applause.

“I’m sorry for arriving unannounced and in secrecy,” he said, “but we are not to see each other before the ceremony, and I wanted to deliver this to you in person.”

Loki could only numbly follow how he pulled from the folds of his cloak a garland of flowers and held it on his palms for Loki to see. It was delicately weaved with white, like freshly fallen snow, flowers, tiny like little pearls.

“I had hoped,” Thor continued with a small smile, “to be allowed to lay it onto your raven locks myself.”

The block of ice that had formed in Loki’s chest on seeing Thor cracked, and cold fury filled the crevice. “You are remarkably poetic about it,” he said, smiling as well – only his smile was razor-sharp and so frigid it could burn iron. “But you’re overdoing it a little, don’t you find?”

Thor’s brows furrowed. “I… what?”

“I don’t know how it is on Asgard,” Loki pressed on, gaining confidence in Thor’s hesitancy, “but on Jotunheim this custom is hopelessly outdated. Wherever you learnt it from, I advice you update your source.”

“What, outdated? You mean… sending flowers?”

Loki rolled his eyes, unable to maintain the detached appearance he had aimed at and instead letting malice seep from his voice into the air. “Yes, Thor, considering that that’s what we’re talking about, I indeed do mean sending flowers. And even when it used to be practised, one flower was enough to deliver the message. Although, perhaps you Asgardians have too thick skulls for such subtlety.”

Thor’s frown deepened. “Loki, what are you talking about?”

Loki’s vision turned white with fury. “Let us speak plainly then,” he hissed. “You’ve come to slay me – so do it. But know that I will not lay down and die for your convenience.”

Thor gaped at him. “You think that I’ve come to slay you?”

The utter bewilderment that had taken over his face gave Loki a pause. He had never taken Thor for a great actor, or for one to hide his true face behind shrewd masks – Thor had always been direct enough with Loki in the past, in his dislike and tolerance alike. This utterly open confusion could not be feigned, not with Thor’s unguarded eyes.

“You mean to say,” Loki asked, cautious, “that you have not?”

Perhaps he indeed had not, because the entire prospect seemed to shock Thor into momentary speechlessness. “Loki, why would-- we are betrothed!”

“Exactly,” Loki said, a little weakly. A horrible inkling had slithered into his mind, a possibility that he had been embarrassingly, terribly wrong. “You did send me all those flowers..?”

“And you thought I wanted to _kill_ you?”

Thor stared at him with such incredulity that Loki suddenly felt very, very foolish. “But that’s what it means,” he insisted, desperately reaching for his earlier confidence and control of the situation. “I told you, at the feast.”

“You told me they symbolise life and resilience!”

“Yes, when they’re alive! Of course the meaning is the opposite when you severe them from their life source!”

An expression of horrified understanding settled upon Thor’s features. Had Loki himself felt like he was trying to find his footing in an avalanche, he would have probably found it funny.

“Oh, Loki… no. No, on Asgard… They don’t mean that on Asgard.”

“They what _do_ they mean?”

“They...” Thor opened and closed his mouth, like a fish. “You truly don’t know?”

Mortification gave new vigour to the little spark of anger still residing within Loki. “No, I truly don’t know! And don’t even pretend that you are familiar with every custom of ours!”

“No, you’re right, I’m not.” Thor dropped his gaze on the flower crown still resting on his palms, then raised his eyes to look straight into Loki’s. “Please believe me when I say that I meant no offence, disrespect, or threat with my gifts. Forgive me – they were thoughtlessly sent. I have yet much to learn of Jotunheim.”

Loki could only gape – he had never seen the Crown Prince of Asgard act so bashful and humbled. Nearly a month’s worth of bitterness and contempt evaporated in the face of the sincerity of Thor apology, and Loki found himself speechless before it.

“Evidently I have as much to learn of Asgard,” he managed.

Thor smiled at him. “We have much to learn together.” He took a cautious step towards Loki, offering the flower crown. “It is simply that you told me at our nuptials that you have seen only few flowers in your lifetime. I merely wished to show you their exquisite bloom and beauty.”

“Ah,” Loki said. He stood still while Thor crossed the space between them, and let him slowly, carefully lower the delicate crown onto his head.

Thor stepped back and regarded Loki, visibly satisfied. “I knew it would look outstanding,” he said, eyes crinkling a little with his smile, and Loki realised, mortified, that he was flushing.

“Mhm,” he said and forced himself to stop wringing his hands, only to start doing it again a moment later.

Thor’s cheeks had reddened too. “I should go,” he said after an awkwardly prolonged silence, “before I’m missed at home; I should not be here.”

“Yes.” Relieved and oddly disappointed at the same time, Loki walked with him to the door of his chambers.

Hebyl was waiting right behind the door when Thor opened it. He stood motionless, arms crossed over his chest, expression carved in stone.

Thor threw a cautious glance at him, and then, before stepping out through the door, turned to Loki and gently grabbed his hands. Loki started a little. It was the first time they touched; so far they had always kept the appropriate distance. Thor’s hands were warm and a little moist, but their hold was secure. Their skin pressed together like that, Loki imagined he could even feel Thor’s pulse.

His own heart jumped when Thor directed his unnervingly blue eyes at Loki’s. He looked like he wanted to say something, but eventually he only gave Loki’s hands an awkward squeeze and let them go.

Hebyl gave them both a judgemental look, but started walking away without a word. With a last glance at Loki, Thor hurried after him, leaving Loki to stand in the doorway and choke on his leaden tongue.

.

Loki didn’t have much time to stew on the events of the strange night: the very next evening, Hebyl was once again behind his door. But this time he had brought no bouquets. Instead, he was holding out to Loki a book, and in his other hand--

Loki quickly grabbed the gifts, as if removing them from Hebyl’s hands would erase them from his mind as well, and, avoiding the perpetually grouchy eyes, hastily closed the door.

The book turned out to be a collection of Asgardian poetry, but before Loki could take a closer look, he noticed a folded piece of paper sticking out between the pages. It was a letter, and Loki opened it immediately.

_Loki,_

_I left hastily last night, without a proper explanation of the reasons of my gifts and the unannounced visit. Allow me to rectify that now._

_The book you’ve found with this letter will perhaps help shed light on the Asgardian customs about gifting flowers, something that I failed to elaborate on when we last met. In short, we use flowers for courtship – and that is what I attempted to do. It was your eyes I had in my mind when I sent you that first bouquet._

_When we met at our nuptials, I was immediately struck by what I saw in you: your intellect and wit, your sharp mind and sharper tongue, your strong form, your raven hair, your beautiful eyes. You were all I could think of even after I returned back home, yet I realised I had expressed none of that to you. I am no skald, Loki; I cannot put in words all that I wish to tell you. Sending you flowers was simply my clumsy way of saying that, in marrying you, I wish to earn not only your hand, but also your heart._

_I hope you will accept one more flower from me – a symbol of my growing love for you, and, as I dare to hope, of our future together._

_Sincerely, Thor_

Loki flushed deep lilac. _Not a skald_ , indeed.

His gaze found the plant Thor had mentioned in his letter. It was small but visibly thriving in its little pot filled with rich soil, the flower still budding, not yet opened.

Holding Thor’s letter against his fluttering heart, Loki knew that when the flower bloomed, there would be none more beautiful in all the Nine Realms.

 

 

*


End file.
